


he tells you/you tell him

by krotenkonig



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asexual Character, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krotenkonig/pseuds/krotenkonig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dave n karkat reminiscing on life before the game & havin a lil feelings jam. oneshot. rated t+ rather than gen because of vulgar refs to sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	he tells you/you tell him

you miss texas monsoon season, you honestly do. the heavy patter of rain against the window and the crack of thunder that reverberated in your chest and made you want to sink into the bowels of the earth. karkat’s got his rain sounds playing on the surround sound from a mix he titled “calm down you maladjusted piece of shit”, but which the ipod display shortens to just “calm down yo…” which you think is a lot more chill and less prone to aggravating whatever already seriously aggravated karkat would be trying to access 10 hours of nature sounds. he’s not in need of calming down now, though, he just put it on because he enjoys the sound of rain. you do too, you guess.

you’re both sitting in the dim light of whatever pseudo home theater you’d converted this block into. but the 40 inch plasma tv is off, the stack of dvds untouched, and you’re not binge-watching movies for what you think is the first time in a week. 

karkats leaning into you, one of his horns digging into your cheek. its gonna leave a little indent on your skin later but you don’t really care how it looks and honestly it’s kind of cute. you play with the fringe of his sweater as he tells you about the rainy season on alternia, how it was mostly just drizzle, and you tell him in turn about the downpours every summer, tell him it was like walking under a showerhead whenever you went outside. he asks you if you ever did that, shower outside, like exhibitionist ass you are (his voice drips layers of sarcasm because he knows you’re … incredibly uptight about…that), and you tell him, no, but one time the neighbor's kid kissed her girlfriend in the rain and you swear it was a scene straight out of his fucking romcoms. he laughs and butts you in the chin with his horn again, lightly, doesn’t apologize for it like the ten other times he first tried leaning against you like this. its comfortable.

he tells you about how his favorite part of the day was the dawn, right before trolls started turning in to sleep, the juxtaposition between the new day for the planet but the close of day for its inhabitants. about how he went to sleep with his shades drawn, but the window cracked open slightly, and the fresh, hot--it was always hot--air of the morning filtering through the gaps in the blinds.

you tell him early night was your favorite, how you walked out about a mile from your house, away from the concrete jungle to the suburbs on the edge of town, where the houses were packed so tightly together they might as well mount each other. karkat laughs. you tell him about the manicured lawns of bermuda grass kept so uniform it looked fake. half of them probably were. 

you stretch and shift, crossing your legs and sinking deeper into the couch, pulling karkat down with you, and you tell him about the smell of dinner wafting from the one house that was the epitome of the middle class white american nuclear family unit with 2.5 kids and a golden lab named buddy. sometimes it was barbecue, most nights it was spaghetti. it was always pizza delivery on fridays because the mom went out for drinks with her girlfriends on fridays, leaving the man of the house to fend for himself...fucking gender roles... 

karkat asks about polygamy. you tell him the term girlfriends was colloquial speak for platonic female friends. he makes a joke about you being boyfriends, and you laugh, and he laughs too, a sort of quiet and bemused huff of air through his nose, because he knows that when either of you say it it’s not…colloquial.

you tell him about wandering further into the maze of cul-de-sacs and three car garages, tell him how the scent of laundry and grass clippings and soap from the neighbors showers all intermingled in the humid air of afterdusk. tell him about the dim lights from the upstairs windows and the vague outlines of old folks turning in for the night. karkat points out you have that in common. dawn and dusk, ironically symbolic, you should appreciate that dave. you snort. he elbows you in mock offense.

he tells you about sitting out on the balcony of sollux’s neighbors apartment, legs dangling through the railing over the ledge, taking refuge from the crowds of the communal 'stem party inside who were either various stages of inebriated or making out or playing an increasingly violent game of pin-the-tail-on-the-hoofbeast. sollux himself had ditched karkat to play some kind of two-player first person shooter with aradia in the guest bedroom, wherever the hell that was. karkat hadn’t been in the mood to look for it--didnt want to walk in on yet another makeout session. he tells you about how it just made him increasingly angry, seeing couples together, reminded him of how uptight and alone he was. you wrap an arm around his waist as he starts talking about the blinking lights of the city center on the horizon, a haze of garish green and purple overlooked by the judiciary complex, jutting out against the pale light of dawn. he waxes fucking poetic about this stuff…mumbles the last part into your shoulder.

you tell him about hopping the chain link fence and climbing onto the roof on one of the developments still under construction, of sitting there with a muggy breeze brushing over your skin as you skimmed the houses fifteen feet over through ur shades. you tell him about the time you saw your neighbors fucking through their sheer curtains. you tell him how you couldn’t stop watching, but it--it didn’t make you horny or anything. and you felt fucked up because not only did you watch them with absolutely no reaction but you couldn’t stop and it was just. yeah, it was fucked up. you thought everything was some shade of fucked up back then, but fucking itself, it was .. fu… fucked up, you guess, you dont know. you trail off.

he tells you its not fucked up, ur not fucked up. it just happens. 

you say you guess it does. then you’re silent for a while. (you have a feeling he’s going to say it and - )

he asks you if you still feel that way. About. you know, the fucking.

(you knew he was going to bring it up it you kn- )

so you tell him you just don’t know. it’s been a while. you’re not sure. you never really knew how you were supposed to feel about it. Mostly its just …weird.

he tells you the next question might be personal and if you don’t want to answer, dave, i can respect that and tell me to piss off if this isn’t my territory, and you tell him, oh my god, karkat, its fine, and he tells you no. he’s being serious. he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

you know exactly where this is going. you stop him before he can say it. "is this because of your—" "my trans thing? because of that?"

And you pull away from him and you know he can see the indent of his horn on your face as he glances up at you and a blush starts up at his cheeks and he opens his mouth to say something, looks like he’s gonna backpedal, because he knows this is sensitive territory and bro code states don’t go too far into this shit without prior asking and

you don’t know, you say, for the umpteenth fucking time. there’s a lot of shit you’re still trying to figure out. you understand why he brought it up, though, because you've hinted at your gender and sexuality crossing over into an intricate hot mess before. well, maybe not so much hinted at as ramble/cried about to him at stupid o'clock in the morning. you probably weren't very coherent then. (you're not sure you can be coherent now, either.)

you lean forward to rest your cheek on the top of his head again because you don’t think you can look him in the face when you say it. you talk to the wall. you say you think it might, maybe, probably, like seventy percent chance, have had something to do with the trans thing. but you’re okay now. 

he hums in affirmation. 

you twist your head a little and mumble into his hair that you’re actually not okay now. he hums again. you tell him you might change later, get more comfortable with it, because people change n shit, but for now, right now, you’re… you don’t know. you’ve…

you’ve run into embarrassing territory and you tell him you want to stop talking about this, (but) you feel like you need to talk about it, (but) you don’t know how and you don’t have the words for this kind of shit. 

karkat moves like he’s gonna get up, and you grab onto the back of his sweater and hold onto it with a pathetic grip as he starts making shushing noises and oh he was just repositioning himself and he sits down cross legged on the couch. you turn so you face him , your knees brushing his. he takes both his hands and places them lightly on the tops of your thighs.

“you wanna rap about it?”

“i...,” you say, placing your hands over his and wringing them both together. when he lets you twine your fingers between his it calms you down, somewhat. you stare at the place where one of his hangnails is starting to peel off from the skin, leaving a little scab of redness at the base of the nail. you run your thumb from knuckle to nailbed and he twitches his finger a bit. you bring your gaze back up to meet his.

he starts to say something and is cut off by a low rumble of thunder from the surround sound system. You shiver a little and you’re not sure why.

“you want me to walk you through it?” he asks.

“yeah .. yeah man walk me through this . like, put a metaphorical kiddie leash on me , one of those ridiculous backpacks that are actually kiddie leashes in disguise, you know, come on, your lusus had to have some kind of shit like that, like a crab backpack or something. dude, Bro didn’t even have a backpack actually he just tied a fucking jump rope around my waist when we went out and i remember he literally dragged me on my ass through Walmart one time when i was just tired of walking and refused to go anywhere but the ice cream aisle and he was intent on shopping for 'real food' ay kay ay not the ice cream aisle for once or something it was… man. Good fucking times right there."

you look down at your hands, which are shaking a little, god you’re so on edge and karkat can tell oh good god. might as well just acknowledge it, … you lift up a hand and hold it at eye-level, both of you watching it waver unsteadily.

“nervous,” you say, dropping your hand back to take karkats again. "me too," he says, and you barely catch it under his breath but it was there and you heard it. 

“you just gonna let me ramble a tangential novel of word vomit or…”

“didn’t want to interrupt.” he says. he leans his head sideways to rest on the back of the couch. the hair on the side of his head's getting tugged up against the couch pillows, and oh no the tag on his sweater's sticking out. you reach over and tuck it back in. karkat sighs softly. you let the pitter patter of rain sounds fill the silence. 

karkat takes a breath. "so um. this is me, making a complete ass of myself, sacrificing my dignity to hold your hand and walk us both through this quagmire of bullshit, but just for future reference--and also this is entirely hypothetical if you want it to be--but do you think you'd be okay with us, uh." he falters.

you are suddenly very very aware of the blood rushing in your ears and the dryness of your mouth and how clammy karkat's hands are. you look up at karkat and the poor guy's making a face like he's choking on something. you need to step the fuck up and do some metaphorical heimlich maneuvers up in here but you can't fucking move and all you can get out is 

"i..."

karkat makes a noise like he is going to die and he pulls away from you, turns around, and smothers a hoarse scream in the couch before pressing himself deeper into the cushions and you don't think you'd ever seen someone embody the expression 'shriveling up' as accurately as karkat was right now. 

you yourself feel like shriveling up too. after this is over, all that'll be left of both of you will be two vaguely dave-and-karkat-shaped raisins on the couch. rest in peace.

you're scared of saying it so you mumble it into your chest. (i dont think i want to have sex). you get a muffled "what" in response, and say it again at exactly the same decibel level (i said i dont think i want to have sex) and he obviously didnt hear it and you dont think you're capable of making yourself any louder so you get up and walk over to the end of the couch karkat's migrated to. you kneel down and rest your chin on the edge of the cushion, staring at the back of karkats head. you flip your cape from over your shoulders to cover both you and karkat in a mini makeshift tent. he turns around at that. 

"hey," you whisper into his face.

"hi," he says, and you can feel his hot breath on your forehead. (you can smell it too, vaguely sweet and peanut butter-like, evidence of the pb&j you both had for dinner.)

"i um," you say. you swallow thickly before it all comes out in a rush, "i said i dont think i want to have sex and please dont take it the wrong way you're my best bro and i love you a lot and you're chill and sensitive and pretty fucking hilarious and, and hot, and just an all around really beautiful guy and i'd totally want to get down with getting down if that were a thing that i could do because i trust you and ive thought about it before and sometimes it makes sense and im like hey maybe it would work out but then the next second it gets even more confusing and i dont understand why i would want to do shit like that at all and the thought of us like, making tender fucking love, like its great i guess like you were saying in the hypothetical sense but i dont think i can. right now. im sorry." your teeth click together as you snap your mouth shut at the end. 

karkat stares at you for a second as you wait for him to process your rapidfire answer and then he breathes out what sounds like a sigh of relief. "okay."

"you're cool with that?" 

"yeah im cool," he says, and you slump forward so your foreheads are touching. fucking romantic. 

"cool."

"cool."

**Author's Note:**

> "cool?"  
> "cool"  
> \- john green, the fault in our stars
> 
>  
> 
> cool, i also say, as i post this fic and refuse to reread it on principle that its too embarrassing


End file.
